He resumed limping along. "Motherfuckers. There was no need for that. Those poor sons of bitches weren't going to hurt anybody. They were trying to get away, for Christ's sake." He slapped the concrete beside him in frustration.
As he inched along he left the gunfire behind, meaning he’d made it past the bulldozers. They were the northern perimeter to the tunnel-dwellers defense. The gunfire slowed, changing from an onslaught to a steady sprinkle of shots. The defenders had moved from wholesale slaughter and now they were picking off the survivors.
He blocked out the gunfire and the screams and studied the distance between where he stood and the bluff. His barrier stopped fifteen feet ahead; a few scraggly trees and limestone blocks took its place for a short distance. Beyond that was twenty-five yards of open ground, then the bluff wall. Ahead and to his right sat a triangle-pond filled with stagnant, mossy water; more of the sickly trees and scrawny underbrush surrounded it. A tunnel was drilled into the bluff almost directly in front of him.
He studied the surroundings intently, his mind whirring. After a brief few moments, he nodded. "That's it, old boy, there's your play."
A voice inside him answered. "What if armed people are in the tunnel?"
"Then I lose, asshole. But I haven't lived this long by not taking chances."
57
* * *
Whatever happened, it would be over fast. A fucker up on the bluff would shoot him down like a dog, or his plan would work and he’d make it to the tunnel entrance sight unseen. Two minutes from now he’d be dead or out of harm's way.
He tried to bolt from behind the wall but his injured leg wouldn't cooperate. The best he could do was hobble like an asshole in a potato sack race. He ran bent at the waist to stay low, which made gimping along even harder. Nevertheless, he made it to the line of boulders and limpid trees without taking a bullet. He hunkered behind a narrow tree trunk, feeling like a mastodon hiding in a flower bed. After a series of short, shallow breaths, he left the cover the trees and crossed open ground headed for the pond. With every step he expected a bullet to slam into his backside, but he reached the growth around the brackish water intact.
Resisting an almost overwhelming urge to look over his shoulder, he stayed low to the ground and close to the pond, dashing from tree to tree. His gunshot wound no longer throbbed; now it burned, an aching heat that hurt to the bone.
He half stumbled, half crawled to the last tree in the little copse. Salvation lay yards away in the form of a twenty-five-foot wide opening cut into the bottom of the bluff. Magnus eyed it the way a lustful teenager eyed a stack of porn magazines, or an obese man with a sweet tooth eyed a cheesecake.
"This shit right here is why a mousetrap works. The fucking mouse knows it's a trick, it knows people don’t leave big balls of peanut butter behind the toilet by mistake. But he looks at the greasy brown goo until he can't help himself anymore and he quits listening to his instinct." He took a pull from his canteen and wiped drops of water from his mustache with the back of his hand. "It's a good thing I'm not a mouse. Okay boys, let's win this thing."
His dash across the open ground was none too fast, as he had to run hunched over, dragging his leg behind him. With five feet left to go he dove, landing just outside the entrance and rolling three times until he made it inside. He bellowed with each rotation when his bullet wound rolled across the unforgiving cement, sending silvery spikes of pain down his thigh.
Once inside, he sat up and scuttled backward out of the entryway and checked his body for new bullet holes. He was intact, except for a slight sprain to his wrist; he chuckled, then broke into a full laugh. "Son of a bitch. I might make it out of this thing. Son of a bitch." He sat a minute, catching his breath and collecting his thoughts, then he pushed himself up with his good leg.
He peered into the shaft. The darkness swallowed the sunlight after about 100 feet. It was around forty feet wide and twenty feet high. Enormous stone pillars braced the rock overhead, two on each side. The first pair sat twenty-five yards from the entrance, and they rose every twenty yards after that. The shaft ran straight for a long way but bent to the east as the light melted away.
He tightened his makeshift bandage and squeezed the cloth covering his wound. It wasn't saturated. A good sign, it meant the bleeding had stopped or slowed to a trickle. He flexed his wrist and cursed through gritted teeth. It needed a sling but, but he had nothing except the clothes on his back; and judging from the cool temperature a few feet into the shaft, he would need those for his walk.
He probed his pockets and belt loops. His canteen was at half-capacity, his gun had a full magazine, and his knife was honed to a razor’s edge and in its sheath. A half-used book of matches, two marbles, and a plastic baggie containing four strips of beef jerky completed his inventory. "I guess carrying a flashlight was too much to ask, asshole," he chided himself.
But things could be worse. Nobody was shooting at him, he wasn't a captive, the dark didn’t scare him, and this tunnel had to come out somewhere. All he had to do was use patience, keep a steady direction, and not lose his head. At some point, he'd see daylight.
58
* * *
The darkness was absolute- he held his hand millimeters in front of his face and couldn’t see it. He tried to keep track of the passing time- he counted to sixty, slowly, then started again at zero. After the fifth count to sixty, he figured five minutes had passed. It was time to light a match and get a glimpse of his surroundings. He'd used three of them so far and seen nothing- just rock above, below, and on both sides.
His footsteps echoed off the walls and his respiration sounded loud. He thought he heard footsteps other than his own twice. Each time, he froze and put his hand on his gun. He turned in a circle, listening hard, but hearing nothing.
It was harder than expected to walk a straight line. He got off course once and walked into a pillar. It scared him more than it hurt- for a moment, he had no idea what happened beyond he’d run into something solid and hard. Another time, he lit a match and discovered he was a few feet from walking into a tunnel wall. He kept his good hand in front of him as he walked after that.
He was counting his steps and looking forward to his next match when a blinding white light bathed over him. Before he could react, a harsh voice shouted a command.
"Put your hands up RIGHT NOW Magnus! Right now! Put them up or I will shoot you in the face!"
Magnus raised his hands. "Alright, fucker, they're up. Calm the fuck down."
"Don't worry about how calm I am. I'm the one given the orders here. I won't hesitate to blow you away."
"You talk a mean game now. Let's see how badass you are when the odds are even." Hoping the owner of the voice paid more to what he said than what he did, he lowered his good arm to shield his eyes from the light. A shot rang out and a bullet zipped by his left ear and slammed into the wall behind him.
"Do you think I'm fucking around? Move again and you’ve seen daylight for the last time, asshole."
Magnus froze and squeezed his eyes shut. The flashlight beam was like looking at the sun in the middle of the afternoon on a cloudless summer day.
"Take your right hand, reach across your body, and pull your weapon. Hold it by the finger guard with two fingers and two fingers only. If you move too fast, used three fingers, or do anything I don't like, I'll shoot your dick off."
Magnus followed his orders to the letter. He moved slowly until he held his 9mm upside down in his left hand. "Now what, Hoss?"
"Set it on the ground- straight down, don't you bring it across your body."
He bent at the waist and set his weapon on the cement floor.
"Take ten steps to your right; don't turn, sidestep."
Magnus' ears perked up. The guy was using a more conversational tone, and he thought it sounded familiar. "I'll do my best. It might be kinda hard, though- I've got a bullet hole in the back of my leg."
"Yeah, I noticed tha
t. You look like a tough guy; I bet you can manage. Make sure they are nice, wide, steps."
Magnus moved to his right, striding as far as he dared with each step. He winced and grunted each time he carried his weight with his injured leg. "It's not very neighborly to disarm your fellow man, Hoss. Lots of biters around."
You're one to talk about being neighborly, after the shit you tried to pull today. Take your sheath off your belt and toss it over by the gun."
He did as ordered, not mentioning the Thompson folding combat knife in his other pocket. "Hey, how do you know my name?"
"Why wouldn't I? You led an army to my home to kill me. Get on your knees and lace your fingers behind your head. I’m going to circle around and come up behind you. If you jerk, if your hands move, if you make any move I don't like- it will be the last thing you ever do."
He considered refusing, to see how the other man responded. But when you don't have any chips you can't call the other player's bluff, and if he caused the guy to react, it probably wouldn't end well. He kneeled and put his hands on the back of his head. "Any chance we can hurry his up? My knees are haywire and this concrete isn't doing them any good. Besides, if you're looking for the person who led the army over here, you have the wrong one. This whole misadventure was the Queen's idea. She's the one-." The guy cut him off, planting his knee in the small of Magnus' back and grabbing his wrist in a firm grip. He pulled it down and behind his back, then did the same with his other arm. Magnus heard the zooop of a zip tie and his hands were fastened nice and snug behind him.
“You must be a real winner. First, you abandon the woman you call your Queen when things go to shit, and now you try to pin the whole mess on her just to save your ass." He patted Magnus down while he spoke. It wasn't a professional job but he was thorough, finding the knife in no time and tossing it with the other weapons.
"You are as wrong as you can be. This was her idea- I advised against it. And yeah, once your fucking bulldozers of death chewed my men to pieces, I got the hell out of Dodge. Anybody else would have reacted the same way."
His search done, the guy stepped in front of Magnus, keeping the light shining in his face. "If there's one thing I've learned about you, it’s that you’ll have an excuse for anything I accuse you of."
Magnus squinted against the brightness, trying to get a catch a glance of his tormentor. "What do you mean, ‘what you’ve learned about me’? How do you who I am or anything about me? Who the fuck are you?"
The man clicked the selector on the flashlight, dimming the beam, and directed it up so it bathed them both in a soft glow.
Magnus’ eyes widened and he tilted his head. His lips spread into a smile and he chuckled with disbelief. “I should have put two and two together.†The fucking kid."
“Hello, Magnus,†Coy said.
59
* * *
“How have you been, kid?â€
Coy wore a bemused expression. "Better than you, from the looks of it."
“I was doing a lot better before I ran into you. I was about to get out of this hellhole."
Coy gave him a bitter smile and shook his head. "Not in this tunnel, you weren't. I walked this one once for eleven miles and never did find an exit. I had to turn around and go back the way I came."
“Doesn't matter if it was eleven or 1100 miles- I would have made my way out of it. How did you find me?"
Coy chortled. "How do I find you? A retarded Chihuahua with a bad case of the yips could have followed the blood trail you left behind. It was child's play for Lucy."
“Still have your dog, huh? That's a good thing.†He blew out a breath and arched his eyebrows. “Where is she?â€
“I sent her back once I laid eyes on you.â€
Magnus nodded. He looked at the ground, pondering, and back up with a puzzled expression. "But how the hell did you get in front of me?"
“Over the course of the first mile, there are passages all along the west wall that connect this tunnel to the one next to it. I cut through, ran ahead, cut back over, and waited."
Magnus beamed and shot him a toothy smile. "That's what I like about you, kid. You are bright as shit. Always thinking." He jostled his hands as much as he could with them zip-tied. "But come on- there's no reason to tie me up. I'm not going to hurt you. Cut these damn ties- my hands are asleep."
“Maybe. First, lay on your stomach and let me take a gander at your wound."
It's hard to lay down without using your arms; Magnus grumbled and bitched as he squatted, then cursed a blue streak as he fell the last few feet.
“Quit complaining, you big baby."
Magnus laid on his stomach with his hands behind his back, wobbling like a sea lion on dry land. The kid untied the shirt covering the wound, tickling his thigh. Then he felt a searing pain as Coy jerked the cloth away. Blood trickled down the inside of his leg and the kid whistled.
“There it is. I'm going to poke around in it a little. Try not to move- you’ll make it worse."
Magnus took a breath and held it, concentrating on remaining still. There was pressure around the wound, then bright throbbing misery wracked him as Coy investigated. Beads of sweat popped out on his forehead. The pain increased, and he groaned; a shimmering ribbon of agony shot up his leg and he jerked despite himself. "Jesus Christ on a cross that hurts! What are you doing, trying to fuck it?"
Coy smacked his butt cheek. “Shut up, you sissy. You call that a wound? Back home I’d get mosquito bites worse than that. My buddy liked to hang out with strippers- he’d come home with hickeys that looked worse. You got lucky. No veins and arteries. If the bullet had hit your femoral, you would've bled to death before you made it fifty feet. The bad news is the bullet is still in your leg and in there deep. If we don't get it out or get some antibiotics in there, sepsis will set in.â€
“Yeah, asshole, I know how bullet wounds work. I was shooting people when the best part of you was running down the inside of your mother's thigh."
An electric bolt emanated from his thigh as Coy stuck the tip of his finger in the wound. “Not nice to talk about my Mom.â€
Magnus growled curses and threats into the tunnel floor.
Coy poked his good leg. "God, you're a whiner. Hold still while I bandage you." He ripped open a package and taped a dressing over the damage. "That should stop the bleeding and hold for a while. Let’s get you on your feet."
He pulled and Magnus pushed himself into a kneeling position, and Coy guided him as he rose to his feet.
The kid gave him a level look. "I'll cut your wrist ties. But I'm holding on to your weapons because I don't trust you any farther than I could throw a water buffalo. I'll walk behind you and guide you out of here, and you are not going to do anything hinky because you know I’ll shoot you down like a rabid dog if you do. We'll talk as we walk. When we get to an exit, if I'm satisfied with our talk, out you go. If not, I’ll shoot you dead and leave your body for the crows."
Magnus grinned. "That sounds fair."
Coy nodded and clicked the Maglite back on high. "Start walking."
60
* * *
They walked for a while without talking, except for when Coy called out for him to turn left or turn right. Magnus felt naked without his gun on his hip. To pass the time he played out in his head what would happen if he tried to jump the kid and get it back. The outcome was never positive, and besides, he liked Coy. So he kept his hands visible and did nothing suspicious.
They made a right-hand turn; for five minutes the only sound was the echo of their footfalls, then Coy spoke. "All kidding aside- don't you think it’s a gutless move to lead those poor sons of bitches over here, get them killed, and run instead of facing the consequences of your actions?"
"If it had gone down that way, yes, it would be a coward’s move… and I'll admit to a healthier do
se of self-interest than most folks. But Junior, you left and didn't see what happened." The kid didn't reply, so Magnus continued. "Kayla gathered the entire community together for a speech. And you've seen her; you’ve experienced how she is. She carried on, told a bunch of lies, shook her titties, and cried on cue. When she finished, the crowd would have crawled buck-naked over twenty miles of broken glass for a chance to take you guys out.
"I counseled her it was a mistake, that she was going about it wrong."
"You tried to talk her into leaving us alone."
"Nope. No, I did not. It was like manifest destiny with her, kid. She had a plan. Step one of that plan was the control of this mine and everything around it. I told her to let me do it my way, with a small team."
Coy chortled. "A small team tasked with doing what, killing us in our sleep? You are talking yourself out of the frying pan and into the fire, my friend."
Damn, Magnus thought. He knows me better than I thought. Sneaking in and killing the leaders in the dead of night was exactly what he proposed. "I don't know, kid. If she let me take my twenty best guys, men I trust and who are obedient to me, what I would've done is anybody’s guess. I might have taken off for parts unknown, or maybe attempted to reason with you folks. And yeah, I might have come to kill you in your sleep. The point is, none of that matters because Kayla whipped the mob into a frenzy and led them across town- not me."
The kid shined the flashlight on an opening to their right. "Turn there. Magnus, if I let you walk out of here, what’s to keep you from popping up in three months with a brand new army? And next time your men will be trained and armed with heavy weaponry and you won't be nice enough to give us advance warning of your attack."
Threat Ascendant Page 17